


A Small Window

by wood_originals



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alcohol, Idiots rubbing up against eachother, M/M, clothed orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wood_originals/pseuds/wood_originals
Summary: Hale and Jax have the strange experience of common ground after Hale agrees to keep the secret of Donna's death from Opie. That leads strange places. Like Hale's house.
Relationships: David Hale/Jax Teller
Kudos: 18





	A Small Window

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know who I miss? Hale. Also ACAB.

The pavement was warm and still smelled like the downpour earlier in the evening when David Hale pulled Jax Teller over for the second time that night. This time it was on a lonely strip of road on the way out of Charming, but it was still for going at breakneck speeds and weaving the centerline like he was hoping to skid his way into an early grave. Hale was annoyed because he’d let him go with assurances Jax would go home not even an hour prior.

But he was also sympathetic, which was why he didn’t even have his ticket book out when he left the cruiser to walk up to Jax. They were both keeping the same secret about how Donna died from Opie but there were more barbs on Jax’s end. If Hale felt bad about keeping the truth from a grieving husband, he couldn’t imagine keeping the truth from his best friend.

If there was ever any honour among thieves it had all distilled into Jax.

“Look, a reckless driving ticket can get your license pulled,” Hale began but Jax looked far from repentant.

He leaned forward on the handlebars of his motorcycle, his whole body ready to get moving again, to ignore whatever warning Hale was going to give him and carry on. Intent on making a mistake. When he looked up at Hale it was almost like he was a mistake he could make. Hale squared his shoulders for a fight but Jax didn’t move.

“Where do you live again?” Jax asked him.

The question startled a laugh out of Hale, it seemed so far from the topic at hand. “I am not in the habit of giving my address to criminals,” he answered.

“Alleged criminal,” Jax corrected with a smile on his face like he was the kind of wild animal that would let you touch him. Like you could pet him and take him home to keep. Of course, he’d probably maul you in your sleep and people who read the news article would wonder what the fuck you expected – but for a time you would have held a wild thing.

Agent Stahl had left Charming and Hale had to wonder what part of his brain she had to have taken with her to think anything of the sort about the Vice President of the Sons of Anarchy.

“Alleged criminal who went to high school with you,” Jax carried on. “Is it still that place on Walnut?”

“No, but my mom’s still there,” Hale answered automatically, like small town small talk was his first language. “She’ll let that place fall down around her ears before she ever gives it up.”

Jax laughed and shook his head. “I can believe that. So where are you now?”

The push was conversational and edged with curiosity, like he really wanted to know. There was something else, like an ulterior motive, but if Jax really wanted his address in this small town he could get it. Hale watched him a moment and sighed.

“I tell you what, it’s the end of my shift. If you come back to the station, I’ll take you there myself,” Hale said fully expecting Jax to balk at the notion. But at least if he was with him he wasn’t trying to splatter himself on a guard rail.

Jax considered this and pushed himself up thoughtfully. “Yeah, alright.”

Back at the station Jax parked his motorcycle on the street and waited there, as though stepping onto the property of his own volition would cause him to burst into flames. Hale was not entirely expecting him to be there when he came back out with the keys to his personal car, but he hadn’t left.

“Took you long enough,” Jax scoffed at him.

“Don’t complain, I skipped out on my paperwork to keep you from loitering for an hour,” Hale replied as he made his way past him to go get his car from the parking lot. He had, too. He skipped his paperwork for the night to go show a biker to his home. He was definitely missing part of his frontal lobe. Maybe he’d text Stahl to return it. No, that was the hole in his head talking.

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” Jax called after him.

“If your mother raised you right,” Hale answered over his shoulder.

Which wasn’t really fair. Gemma Teller was a fine lady.

In either case he settled into his car and started it up. The engine light came on again. He drove it so little during business hours he kept forgetting to get it checked, but they didn’t have far to go. He pulled out and the low rumble of a motorcycle fell in behind him. Hale let the growling engine lull his thoughts numb – like it or not those motorcycles were a part of the soundtrack of Charming. He watched the headlight in the rear-view mirror, comforted by the fact he was not somewhere risking his life or anyone else’s to stomach the discomfort of guilt.

They made it back to his house which was dark and empty like he’d left it that morning. He didn’t keep pets because he had no time, and he didn’t keep people because he had no time. It was just him and his moral integrity and the possibility of a flashing red light on his answering machine because his mother needed him to drop her off something or change a lightbulb.

Coming home was not usually a depressing endeavor but Hale rarely ventured to try and see it from an outsider’s perspective. He wasn’t sure what novelty his home could possibly provide Jax, and when he got out of the car his hand rested thoughtlessly against the hilt of his gun. Hale watched Jax approach from the front step.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Jax said undoing the strap on his helmet.

“That’s real comforting,” Hale answered dryly.

Jax’s nonchalance was what was really disquieting, there was an acknowledgement of possibility in it. Not so much that Jax might kill him but that he had killed people. The life of a Son got bloody, Donna was proof enough of that. In some small way Jax’s presence felt permissive. He felt complicit. The filth of it would normally drive him to bid Jax goodnight, tell him that he now had his address and he was welcome to go back to his own before he charged him with trespassing, but tonight it just made him crave a shower.

“I wouldn’t have parked out front of the station where the cameras could catch me, or right out in front of your place,” Jax pointed out, like that helped. Like all that was wrong here was whether he was dangerous to Hale in that moment.

He was always dangerous to Hale.

The neighbourhood still smelled richly green from the rain and the street lights lit everything gold. Jax came all the way up to his stoop, put a white sneaker on his step and a gloved hand on his railing. The wild thing had followed him all the way home.

Hale acknowledged, and not for the first time, that Jax Teller was kind of astonishing to look at. Hale was so rarely attracted to men he didn’t waste energy on the concept but with Jax’s face tipped up towards him, he was well aware. The real thorn was not that Jax was a man but that Hale’s taste was bad at best and an act of self-flagellation at worst. Jax was all the things he couldn’t abide wrapped in tattooed skin and magnetism that seemed to defy the way he dressed. His jeans hadn’t fit in high school either.

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” Hale asked.

“I don’t know,” Jax answered, without hesitation or guard. The honesty of it surprised Hale, his hand slipped off his gun. “Why did you invite me?”

“I don’t know,” Hale replied, less honestly, and turned towards his door to wiggle the key in the lock until it let him in. He’d been meaning to get that fixed.

Jax followed him in, cautious and curious in the space. Hale hit the light and Jax flinched like he’d been caught at something. Hale really thought Jax had reached his tolerance but instead of turning to leave he closed the door behind him. They made their way into the living room and Jax looked at the couch like he’d never heard of the concept.

“Can I get you anything?” Hale said to put a dent in the uneasy silence.

“Nah,” Jax answered shaking his head. He looked around and then back at Hale, his helmet passed back and forth from hand to hand. “I feel like a narc just standing here.”

“Is there something you want to confess?” Hale asked, he meant it as a tease but he was a cop and Jax was a criminal. It could never be anything less than loaded.

Hale opened his mouth to say something, to apologize or ask him to leave, but Jax beat him to it. “I want to thank you from keeping what happened to Donna from Ope. I get that it’s not easy, you’re not the type to lie. I appreciate it.”

Hale shrugged, a little helpless to that statement. “You’re not really the type either.”

Jax smiled crookedly and privately, turning away from Hale to examine the old map of Charming he’d bought from a charity auction. It wasn’t the original but the carefully penned lines were intriguing none the less. “Man, if Charming could suck your dick you’d be set.”

Hale laughed, startled again into amusement by Jax’s gall. Jax grinned at him, head tipped like he was proud of himself.

“I’d settle for cuddling at this point,” Hale answered with a shake of his head, and before anyone could digest the tragedy and marrow deep loneliness of that statement, he carried on. “I’m going to go get changed out of this,” Hale said gesturing over the uniform, his holster.

“And here I thought you slept in it,” Jax prodded.

“You really missed your calling with comedy, Jackson,” Hale replied not giving him the satisfaction of a laugh even if a smiled had tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Don’t steal anything.”

“There’s nothing I want here!” Jax called after Hale as he made his way down the narrow hall that lead to the bedrooms and bathroom.

“That’s a shame,” Hale said, more like a thought, it barely moved his lips.

Hale returned from his bedroom dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, shoes and socks abandoned for the night. Gun put away. For the second time he came back to Jax and was surprised to find he hadn’t taken off. Instead he’d managed to sort out the couch and put down his helmet on the coffee table.

Now what?

“Can I get you a beer?” Hale asked, trying to be specific so Jax wouldn’t have to think too hard about it. It was strange to have a guest in his house and these were beyond strange circumstances so he fell back on the hospitality his mother taught him.

“Yeah alright,” Jax agreed, he got up and followed him into the kitchen.

Hale pulled two bottles from the sparse fridge, unhinging the caps with the opener fixed to the side of it before passing one over to Jax. Jax took a mouthful and tipped his head as he examined Hale.

“Do they pay you extra to be a full-time billboard?” Jax inquired, gesturing at the worn grey t-shirt Hale was wearing. It read Charming P.D. in over-washed lettering.

“Pot,” Hale replied gesturing at Jax who was wearing an oversized t-shirt stenciled with the reaper. “Kettle,” Hale finished gesturing back to himself and taking a mouthful from the bottle.

Jax chuckled. Another mouthful. “Touche.”

His chuckle continued into a half laugh and Hale arched his eyebrows at him, curious.

“Just remembering the last time I was in your kitchen. Beer was involved that time too,” Jax filled in with amusement in his voice.

Hale groaned shaking his head. He’d mostly forgotten about the sloppy drunk teenage version of himself, king of the party because his older brother had bought a keg. It had been Jax who had pulled him out of the mulberry bush he’d tangled himself in and dragged him home. Considering the only way they really knew each other was from being obstacles to Tara Knowles it had been a very considerate gesture but it was a horrible and hazy memory. “It’s best if you don’t remember it, it’s worked out well for me that way.”

“You puked in your mom’s umbrella stand,” Jax’s amusement had turned into a full laugh. “Do you remember that part?”

“Vaguely. She wasn’t very sympathetic about the hangover after that,” Hale said, scrubbing at his brow like he was trying to wipe away the cling of embarrassment. The things that seemed like a good time at seventeen were mostly mortifying now.

“It was right after you grabbed a handful of my ass while I was getting you in the door, does that jog anything?” Jax pressed with a smirk turning his lips.

Hale flushed red, heat at the back of his neck and a prickle along his cheekbones. “I slipped.”

“So you do remember,” Jax pounced on the admission with a feral delight. “Man, you’re lucky I didn’t tell anyone about that.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Hale countered, an edge of irritation in his voice.

Jax’s grin turned smug and Hale knew what he was going to say before it came out of his mouth. “If your mother raised you right.”

Hale closed his eyes, breathing in slowly through his nose to really experience the way he’d walked directly into that one. With his eyes closed he saw his mother’s kitchen, remembered the way Jax’s leaner frame felt supporting his in a time before they were a Cop and a Criminal. The gravity not quite right from too much cheap beer and being in Jax’s orbit, his hands bolder than he was.

In present day he swallowed another mouthful of beer and opened his eyes. Jax was closer, like a magic trick, still grinning. It took everything in him not to jump. He wasn’t afraid of Jax, just of being close to him. Hale never knew what Jax would do, or what he’d do with him. 

Jax was apparently very interested in the bottle opener affixed to the side of his fridge, his fingers dragged over the metal curve. “I’m waiting,” Jax teased.

It wasn’t indecent how close they were, but it was close enough that Hale could spot the shadows of sleeplessness on Jax’s pale skin. “For your ‘thank you’ or for me to grab your ass?” Hale deadpanned.

Jax laughed, the smile lingered when he spoke but didn’t touch the exhaustion in his eyes. It left the unnerving sensation of looking into a mirror. “I thought you had to hand in your sense of humour when they gave you your badge.”

“I’m off duty,” Hale answered before he swallowed the last mouthful of his beer. He regretted it immediately, unsure what to do with his hands if he put down the empty bottle. Were they flirting?

“Tell your shoulders that,” Jax said mimicking his straight-backed posture, the tension that held his shoulders square and made his neck ache. “I told you I’m not going to kill you, you can relax.”

Hale rolled his eyes and brushed past Jax to get to the recycling bin, shoulder sliding along shoulder like he’d misjudged the distance when he hadn’t. Jax let it happen, following him to the blue bin, dropping the amber glass in amongst the others. They rattled and clinked together loudly, making the quiet of the kitchen that much more noticeable. The fridge buzzed, the clocks around the house kept ragged time, the crickets in the garden said that the world outside still existed. Closer though, Hale could hear Jax breathe in through his nose. 

The kitchen had felt safe a breath ago, but now it was just made of flat surfaces he could put him. Not that Jax was really the sort of person that could be ‘put’ anywhere. Hale wasn’t sure who touched who first, just that the space that had separated them was no longer there. Jax had a fist gathered at the front of his shirt near the collar, and Hale had a similar handful of Jax’s shirt at his hip. They weren’t looking at each other, and they moved in jerky little stops and starts as though they were playing a game of statue or chicken. Both of them waited for the other to throw a fist or cry uncle but the collision felt inevitable.

Hale wasn’t immediately sure what kind of collision it was. In any case as Jax pressed him up against the wall, Hale was hard and it was obvious in the grey sweats he’d put on. Jax’s thigh slotted between Hale’s legs and their mouths pressed to skin, panting and slacked at their necks and jaws not knowing how to do this with one another. His hands fumbled with Jax’s belt, Jax’s teeth caught on his earlobe, the air in the room felt compressed, the gravity of the world crushing them together helpless and without choice.

They weren’t drunk enough and it wasn’t late enough and they didn’t fit together in a way that made any sort of sense and yet somehow those things weren’t true and they did fit together. This was an aftershock of history, a tremor of recent trauma, the tension and struggle of who they were and what that meant, all of it making a strange, small window. The universe lined up and this was how it chose to paint this particular miracle of odds. They could live a thousand lifetimes and this would never happen again, but in this one it did.

In this lifetime Hale’s hand slipped beneath the elastic waist of Jax’s briefs, his skin hot and reactive. Jax made a noise against the shell of his ear, something he smothered almost immediately and turned into a groan but that earnest note burned Hale up so completely. It felt strange and backwards, between the press of their hips there wasn’t room for a proper grip but Jax’s precum wet his fingers and smeared against his wrist. His own cock drooled against the fleece of his sweatpants, rutting into the pressure held there by Jax’s thigh.

Their mouths didn’t ever meet in a kiss, even this loss of reason wouldn’t allow for that. The magnetic fields of their bodies were repellent in that one way, while all of the rest of them notched together until it ached. Their jaws scraped together, stubble on stubble. Teeth and tongue took brief tastes of skin, Jax tasted like the salt of sweat and gasoline, he smelt like leather and the rain in Charming. Hale wouldn’t touch his cut, so he grabbed into his blond hair. Though they were too tangled for any clothing to be shed Jax’s hands still found their way to the skin beneath his shirt and down the back of his sweats. The callouses of his fingers dug in and dragged against his skin.

There was an obvious conclusion to this frenzied, desperate collision but it was the sort of thing that didn’t allow for forethought. Hale lived in those seconds experiencing every single one of his nerve endings and none of his thoughts. When they tipped over the point of no return their bodies had been hurtling towards they were still clothed. Hale felt the slick of Jax’s release against his wrist a moment after his own orgasm made a dark patch on the grey fabric. He could feel it drip along his thigh.

They came apart like they came together, one moment they were folded amongst each other like a dumped out box of matches and the next there was cold air and space between them. Hale pressed against the wall as though he could contribute to this disassembly.

Not knowing where to look he gazed up at the light fixture until the bulbs burned neon flecks against his vision. He wiped the cooling come from his wrist on his pants, they were a lost cause anyways. When he looked back at Jax he found the biker having a staring contest with the blue bin. Then Jax looked up at him as though he could feel his gaze, his hand pushed his hair from his face. He looked wholly unmortified by the experience. It must have been nice.

“I’m gonna head home now,” he said.

Clearing the ringing from his ears and getting the breath back into him, Hale nodded. His thoughts returned to him but he had no frame of reference for how to react to any of this. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I bet I can find the door on my own,” Jax laughed but Hale walked with him anyways, both of them politely ignoring the fact they had come sticking their clothes to them.

Jax got his helmet and paused. “This uh…”

“Was an episode of the Twilight Zone and never happened?” Hale filled in easily.

“Right,” Jax said with a smile turning the corner of his lips as he let his gaze dip down to the dark patch on Hale’s sweatpants and then back up to his face. He made his way over the threshold, back out into the night, back into the version of the world that made sense. And then, of course, he had to turn back at the top step. “You ever see that episode of Twilight Zone where the same day keeps happening over and over?”

“That’s Groundhog Day,” Hale corrected before he noticed what Jax may have been inferring. He leaned heavily against the door frame, wondering what sort of hole this lie was eating into Jax that he wanted to fill it with this. He should have just thrown him in the drunk tank for the night.

Jax waited, his smile the kind of subtle curve a person could snag themselves on a thousand times before they ever learned any better.

Hale shrugged, his shoulders loose. “You know where I live.”


End file.
